


Some kind of madness

by hobgoblin123



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Songfic to 'Madness' by Muse; slash, but more on the fluffy side</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some kind of madness

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I neither own the Coldfire Trilogy, the song 'Madness' by Muse nor the works of Friedrich Nietzsche (see Gerald's quote right at the end of the story).
> 
> A/N 1: This fic was first posted on fanfiction.net. Sadly, I had to delete the lyrics. Without them, the whole thing unfortunately didn't make sense any longer. So I finally decided to move it to this site. Including the lyrics, of course...
> 
> A/N 2: know that we had Gerald and Damien dancing not long ago, not to mention Kagedtiger's older fic. But we also had them making love in every imaginable way (well, maybe not in every imaginable way, but as this story is destined to get posted under the rating 'T' I won't elaborate on that topic now, lol...), and if each author had to refrain from a theme done before, we would soon have nothing left to write about. Meaning of my ramblings: please don't flame me! As far as I know, our dear Black Dragon won't mind me posting this, anyway. Thanks, hugs and kisses, lovey!

**Some kind of madness**

_'I, I can't get this memories out of my mind,_   
_And some kind of madness has started to evolve...'_

His nose buried in his fifth glass of ale in a row, the lines of the song very nearly made Damien Kilcannon Vryce burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. After living like a vulking hermit for the last six months, he had finally relented to the constant nagging of his colleagues, but accompanying his fellow healers Steve and Martin and a bunch of giggling trainee nurses to an after-work pub crawl evidently proved to be an utterly foolish idea. First of all, used to a life in the open, the smell of stale beer, smoke plus the nauseating mix of several heady perfumes and the babbling of the crowd slowly but surely were starting to grate on nerves which had already been on edge since Gerald's supposed death at the hands of his last living descendant. On top of his misfortune, nobody had cared to inform him that the White Stag mounted live concerts on Friday evenings, and now he found himself a most reluctant listener to a band which evidently had had its days.

In their tipsy state, his companions had set their alcohol-fuelled minds on shaking a leg, and after tables and chairs had been unceremoniously pushed aside, very much to his dismay Vryce was now faced with several couples twirling round the improvised dance floor to their hearts' content, something he could have very well done without in his current mood. Even after all those weeks which had passed since the destruction of the Hunter's domain, the bittersweet memories of the filthy, exhausted but yet so breathtakingly beautiful visage of the man who had faced death with a pride and dignity only thrice damned Gerald Tarrant could muster kept haunting him day and night, an annoyance much too telling for his peace of mind.

_'I, I tried so hard to let you go_   
_But some kind of Madness is swallowing me whole...'_

Encountering that ancient soul residing in a juvenile body on Black Ridge Pass should have given him some kind of closure, should have enabled him finally get a grip of himself after weeks of unbearable penance, but in fact quite the reverse came more close to the matter. Realizing that a renewal of their acquaintance would jeopardize the adept's hard-won new mortal existence, he had indeed tried so hard to let him go, but to his bewilderment he had to assert that he simply couldn't let the bygones be bygones. If Tarrant had truly died on that wretched day at the Hunter's keep, he would have grieved for him until the hour of his death, but some fine day he doubtlessly would have come to terms with his tragic demise. Knowing that Gerald was still alive but forever beyond reach was an altogether different matter though, and night after night he stared at the ceiling wide awake, building futile castles in the air until sleep finally overcame him in the small hours of the morning. The warrior knight had always considered himself a thoroughly down-to-earth guy, but that somewhat unhealthy obsession pointed to a certain kind of madness he hadn't considered possible in his wildest dreams.

_'I have finally seen the light_   
_And I have finally realized_   
_What you mean...'_

_That's exactly the problem, you old fool_ , Damien thought miserably and barely managed to stifle another bout of bitter laughter welling up inside him. _Why don't you just face the facts that, dazzled by your religious prejudices, you turned a blind eye to the truth and mucked it up as usual. Admitting that you cared deeply for that vain, arrogant bastard wouldn't have hurt you, but no, you had to hide yourself behind all that piously dressed-up blarney about tolerating Gerald's presence just for the sake of saving humankind from eternal slavery. And now look where your stubborn denial has gotten you! The son of a bitch gave you the marching order as soon as you weren't needed any longer, surely relieved to rid himself of your jarring presence at long last._

_'And know I need to know, is this real love?_   
_Or is it just Madness keeping us afloat...'_

Good question. In fact, Vryce was completely mystified concerning his feelings for his former ally. There was no denying that the initial loathing and hatred had changed to fire-forged camaraderie bordering on friendship over time, but realization that there had to be something else hadn't dawned on him until Gerald had died on Mount Shaitan. Standing helplessly by as the tall, lean frame in his accustomed silken robes had collapsed into a heap, Damien had felt as if his heart had been ripped out of him, and his desperate sobs had mingled with the rumble of the volcano until he had had no more tears to shed. Later, when the adept's bad heart had failed him once again, half out of his mind with dread he had offered his life in exchange for Tarrant's without thinking twice. But that didn't have to mean a thing. Under the given circumstances, it could have been filed away as a simple act of altruism, caused by his utterly platonic affection for a brother-in-arms who had just escaped the clutches of death by a very narrow margin once again.

 Or so he had tried to convince himself, but unfortunately the wet dreams with Gerald as the main protagonist which were constantly interrupting his scarce hours of catnap were anything but platonic. Waking up in a state of feverish arousal, he had frequently wondered whether the adept had somehow managed to put a spell of love on him as a wicked farewell gift. Unlike a certain fraction of bigoted fools who were constantly harassing the religious authorities to outlaw homosexual relationships, he had never minded when folks were drawn to the same gender. If both partners were of age and willing, it wasn't the Church's business what went on in their bed. But there was no denying that he had never fancied a man before Gerald Tarrant had turned his life and his emotions upside down.

_"But when I look back at all the crazy fights we've had_   
_Like some kind of Madness, was taking control...'_

Listening healf-heartedly to the singer, he couldn't help but remembering the multitude of heated discussions which had very nearly ended in drawn daggers more than once. Lost in his memories,  Damien grinned from ear to ear despite his worries. How they had fought and bickered like two incorrigible squabblers while trying to save first Ciani and then the whole vulking planet from Calesta's clutches. The adept had always had a knack for raising his hackles at record speed with his acerbic comments and haughty condescension, but if he was honest, he even missed Tarrant's unbelievable vanity, his seemingly infinite supply of sarcasm and his damned hauteur. For quite a while now, he'd been suspecting that every now and then the Hunter had picked a quarrel just for the sake of raising his companion's spirits, an astounding, if twisted, act of compassion for a being barred from showing whatever small amount of mercy by the strict rules of conduct his accursed compact had entailed. He himself, on the other hand, had invariably taken the bait, hiding his growing affection behind his angry tirades and foul-mouthed curses _. What an odd couple we must have made_ , he thought wryly. No wonder that witnessing their interaction, poor Hesseth had shaken her head in disbelief on more than one occasion and Karril had sometimes seemed close to burst out laughing no matter how deep they'd been in the mire.

_'And know I have finally seen the light_   
_And I have finally realized_   
_What you need...'_

The warrior knight vented a sigh. Admitting that his sexual orientation might have undergone an unexpected change in his advanced age was one thing, but the adept's needs were a different kettle of fish altogether. Along with his identity, any knowledge whatsoever of the Prophet's love life had vanished into the mists of time centuries ago, and in fact the former priest had no idea if the founder father of his faith had ever lain with a man or had at least toyed with the idea of doing so. Undead or alive, Gerald wasn't a man to encourage nosy questions, and that delicate matter most certainly hadn't represented the number one topic of their conversation. He knew that the Neocount of Merentha had married very young and had sired three children, but beyond that everything was pure speculation. Without dispute, quite a few men with certain tastes took a wife just for the sake of an heir and for silencing the malicious tongues, but found pleasure in a male lover's arms behind closed doors nonetheless.  But the eerie encounter with the shadow of Almea Tarrant on Shaitan had somehow convinced him that the unfortunate couple hadn't just entered into a marriage of convenience.

Be that as it may, even if Tarrant indeed wasn't altogether adverse to having it off with a man, there was no guarantee that he would consider bedding Damien Kilcannon Vryce of all people. Anyway, the question was purely academic. Gerald had slipped away to an unknown destination witout looking back, and in all probability he would never set eyes on that pretty face again. Muttering a vicious curse under his breath, the warrior knight buried his weary face in his hands. Hopefully, his colleagues would put down his erratic behaviour on a lamentable incapability to hold his liquor and would leave him in peace until he had regained at least a semblance of composure.

_'And know I have finally seen the end_   
_And I'm not expecting you to care_   
_And I have finally seen the light_   
_And I have finally realized_   
_I need to love_   
_I need to love...'_

"Are you alright, Vryce?"

In spite of the noise level, the calm voice he remembered so well from Black Ridge Pass cut through Damien's miserable musings like a finely honed blade, and in the next instance he was on his feet and whirled around, his heart in his mouth. Dark eyes dominating the androgynous, comely features of a youth at roundabout twenty were watching him intently with a mixture of curiosity and unveiled concern, and the warrior knight's legs very nearly gave way under him. Dear God in Heaven, that had to be an alcohol induced hallucination, a spawn of his overheated imagination as in those endless, lonely nights he had thought he would go mad with grief and yearning. The adept just couldn't have turned up at a public house like any other average punter, alive,  human and so heartrendingly beautiful that it was taking his breath away.

Giddy with excitement, Vryce gazed his fill, feasting his eyes on the delicate features framed by a veritable storm cloud of straight hair black as a true night and the lithe body dressed in embroidered red velvet and black leather. All at once, he was dead certain that this wasn't just a temporary madness caused by long sexual abstinence or his ineptitude to find his way around in a changed world. However it had come to pass, he loved Gerald, truly loved him with a passion he had thought forever out of his reach. In the end it didn't really matter that the former Hunter very likely wouldn't reciprocate his feelings. At least Gerald had cared enough to approach him again despite the risks involved, and even if they weren't destined to end up together, that precious knowledge would brighten his lonely days until he had breathed his last. "I'm fine, my friend," the warrior knight answered gently and smiled. "I had a hell of a time, but now I'm fine."

_'Come to me, just in a dream_   
_Come on and rescue me_   
_Yes I know, I can be wrong_   
_And maybe you're too headstrong_   
_Our love is_   
_Madness...'_

"I'm relieved to hear that. May I introduce myself?" The adept bowed gracefully. "Gerald Hawthorne, at your service. I suppose you'd like to know the name of your dance partner."

Damien goggled perplexedly, resisting the overwhelming urge to pinch himself just by a very narrow margin. _Dance partner?_ He truly had to be dreaming, but he wasn't altogether sure whether it was a great dream or a nightmare. As far as he knew, with the notable exception of certain establishments he had heard about but never visited so far for obvious reasons, it was still very unusual both on the western and the eastern continent for two men to publicly dance with each other.  Maybe the custom had been different in the Revivalist period, but with regard to the strict moral concepts of that era he couldn't help but entertaining grave doubts about this theory.

His mind reeling, Vryce swallowed convulsively. The adept hadn't had to care about mundane human customs and practice for nigh to a millennium, and it was possible that he had advanced his proposal in total innocence. But somehow, he didn't believe that the most incurable know-it-all he had ever met wasn't aware of the possible implications, an assumption fuelled by the mischievous sparkle dancing in those black eyes. On top of his misfortune, the surge of arousal threatening to get the better of him at the mere idea of holding Gerald in his arms wasn't innocent in the least, and picturing how his body might betray him in a most embarrassing fashion, he felt the cold sweat breaking out on his brow.

"Shall we, Vryce, or do you want me to hand you a written invitation first?"

To hell with Gerald Tarrant aka Hawthorne and his condescension and nerve-racking self assurance! If the former Neocount of Merentha thought that he could order him around like a bloody valet, he was in for a rude awakening. "Damned sure of yourself, aren't you," Damien forced out between clenched teeth. "As a matter of fact, I don't feel like dancing. I'm outright horrible at it, anyway, and...

"Do you mind keeping your mouth shut for a change, Vryce?", the adept cut off his ramblings, a flash of annoyance passing over his deceptively youthful features. "For a man who valiantly battled hordes of nasty demons and offered his life for the sake of a friend you are a remarkable coward. But put your mind at rest. I'm regrettably a tad out of practise, but in all modesty I can assure you that I'm both a very skilled dancer and a good teacher."

"Is that so? Quite bluntly, you don't strike me as a fellow possessing the mandatory patience for teaching. You simply could have _asked_ instead of issuing an order, you know?"

"I formally apologize. It won't happen again." Hawthorne bowed again with a flourish. "May I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

The motion was stunningly graceful, so fluid it seemed almost inhuman, and for a moment Damien had to close his eyes, shaken to the core by reminiscenses of finely-chiselled, pale features and a pair of mesmerizing silver eyes. The rare admittance of a lapse on the adept's part did one more thing to calm his ruffled feathers, and before he knew what was happening, he found himself taking a tentative step forward. "You may, Gerald," he muttered uneasily. "But you'll find me the most inept pupil you can possibly imagine. That's a fair warning, so don't take the damage to your vulking toes out on me later."

The corners of Gerald's mouth twitched in barely veiled amusement. "Should the occasion arise, I can be a _very_ patient tutor indeed, a fact I might be able to prove in the course of the night. All in good time."

The warrior knight blinked, not quite trusting his hearing sense. The seemingly innocent words had been uttered with a seductive lilt he had never perceived either in Tarrant's light tenor or in Hawthorne's slightly huskier voice so far, and if he wasn't completely mistaken, the adept's plans for the night went a bit beyond jigging about and emptying a few glasses of ale together. His knees trembling, he didn't resist any longer when a slender arm circled his waist in a rather possessive manner and dragged him towards the improvised dance floor.

As fate had it, the band went into a slow love song, and while his ears were resounding with a mangled version of 'Only You', Vryce counted his blessings that Gerald contented himself with sticking to the basics instead of demonstrating his ability. Dancing cheek to cheek with the man he had gone to hell and back for was bliss beyond words, and overwhelmed by the feel of firm, male curves in his arms, he was barely able to remember his own name, let alone the complicated steps of the dances presently very much in vogue.

He had just begun to warm to the experience when a determined hand left its place at his back and moved downwards until it came to rest on his behind, pulling him as close as humanly possible without merging with each other. In the next instance, the narrow hips pressed tightly against his pelvis were developing a tantalizingly slow but very seductive life of their own, and the smouldering flame of Damien's desire flared up to a veritable firestorm threatening to burn the last barriers of his already severely impaired self-control. Holding his breath, he ground to a halt and disentangled himself from Hawthorne's embrace. "If you don't want to live with the consequences, you'd better stop fondling my buttocks, not to mention writhing as if you had a nubee in your trousers," the warrior knight choked out hoarsely. "I don't have the faintest idea what's going on in your pretty head, but where I come from, people would assume that you're trying to hit on me.

"Just so, Vryce. For a man of your intelligence you can be astoundingly slow on the uptake," Gerald retorted sweetly, utterly unfazed by his protest. "Now that I've clarified my position, we can surely resume our delightful pastime, can't we? The night isn't getting younger, and I'm not in the least inclined to put down roots."

Without further ado Hawthorne wrapped his arms around him again, and his brain still struggling to digest the extraordinary news that the adept was indeed having designs on him, Damien moved to the music like an automaton, not even remotely aware that his colleagues were staring at the only same-sex couple on the dance floor in open bewilderment. So close to seeing his dreams come true he should have been beside himself with joy, but as the initial shock-induced numbness was slowly but surely releasing its hold on him, he felt himself succumbing to a wave of naked panic instead.

Loving Gerald didn't necessarily mean turning a blind eye to his faults. It couldn't be denied that his return to the ranks of the living hadn't changed the fact that he was a headstrong, dominant bastard with a very limited amount of social graces, and walking down the long and winded road of life hand in hand with him most certainly would entail a fair amount of the madness the bloke on stage had so ear-splitting warbled about. But as a matter of fact, that was the least of Vryce's problems.

Although his dance partner had made himself perfectly clear that he had set his brilliant mind on picking him up, he hadn't wasted any words on his motives so far, not to mention his emotions. It was very well possible that he was just looking for a pleasant one-night-stand without any strings attached, but even if he had something a bit more lasting in mind, it was utterly futile to prematurely daydream of a shared future. After all, the adept had walked out on him once before, and the old saying 'once bitten, twice shy' doubtlessly contained more than a mere grain of truth.

Slender fingers touching his cheek as light as a feather brought Vryce back into the here and now. "A wise man on Earth once stated that _'there's always some madness in love_ _, but there is also always some reason in madness'_ ," Hawthorne whispered into his ear. "Seeking you out on Black Ridge Pass and futilely testing the limits of a certain bargain in the process wasn't logical in the least. But I did it nonetheless, and it wasn't my sense of honour which compelled me to ease your burden. Bear that in mind if you feel tempted to doubt my motives once again, Vryce. That I couldn't muster the courage to stay at your side... it was a mistake that won't happen again. Ever. Does that answer your questions?"

Presumably, Gerald would never come closer to uttering the famous three words than he had now, but drowning in those dark eyes which were shining with an emotion he had no difficulty deciphering for once, Damien couldn't have cared less. If their love truly was madness, they were evidently both stricken with the same mental disease, and that was all he needed to know. All doubts resolved and his soul finally at peace, he smiled and bend forward for a long overdue kiss.


End file.
